


Half-Speed

by Pearly_Pornography



Series: Pearly's Preklok Fics [2]
Category: Metalocalypse
Genre: Abuse, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Backstory, Depression, Eating Disorders, Everyone Has Issues, Exploration, Gen, Pre-Klok, Prostitution, Self-Harm, Sex Drugs and Rock and Roll, Slurs, Underage Drinking, Underage Smoking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-29
Updated: 2016-11-29
Packaged: 2018-09-02 20:51:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,942
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8682937
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pearly_Pornography/pseuds/Pearly_Pornography
Summary: After dropping out of high school, Nathan has questions of where to go next. No answers, though.





	

"I just- you know, I really don't think he should drop out of school."

"Better he drops out than he fails."

"I suppose, but..."

He could hear them. Really, he wasn't even sure if they knew he was around. But he could hear them. Mom and dad. Talking, conspiring, making decisions about HIS life. Deciding what to do with something that wasn't theirs. It made Nathan sick, the way his parents made decisions without him. But this time, it was his choice. He was going to drop out. He hated high school, after all, it was bullshit. He hated the arbitrary work and all the crap he didn't understand.

He didn't want to go to school.

He didn't want college, either.

He didn't want any of that.

As the universe turned, he locked himself in his bedroom with a stolen bottle of Jack, listening to heavy metal. The blasting drums, the beating guitar, the bludgeoning of the bass and the rhythm, the way the singer growled cruelly into the microphone, his throat seeming to tear with each word. It was deep, dark, and brutal. It was all that Nathan had ever wanted to be, what with his flashy name, wild hair and deep, gravelly voice. He smiled, unable to hear whatever happened outside of his room. 

He would always pretend stuff wasn't happening. He had music.

-

He got the idea to become a musician when he began working at a record store. He met Magnus Hammersmith, an old guitarist who worked as the assistant manager of the store. He had cool hair, and a calm, chill personality. Along with him was another minimum-wage worker alongside Nathan, who he hardly ever spoke to. They were separated by a few years in age, after all, and the kid always had this terrible expression on his face. 

(Who would've thought that that little brat would be his bassist in a couple years?)

Magnus was dusting off countertops, making sure everything was in order, and offhandedly mentioned that Snakes 'n Barrels were performing their last show that night, at a nearby venue. Then came a joke from the bratty kid about how people would be all over trying to hire their lead singer, Pickles, who was famously multitalented. Of course, Nathan said he'd get to him first.

Magnus blinked.

"You sure?"

"I wanna start a band." Nathan clenched his fists. "I wanna start a death metal band."

"It ain't that easy." Magnus didn't elaborate. "William, you're gonna smudge the CDs if you clean 'em like that." The brat -- William, apparently -- stuck his tongue out and threw the disc on the ground, breaking it in half and shouting a cacophony of swear words before storming off and locking himself in the bathroom. 

"The fuck is his deal?"

"Oh, I guess I never formally introduced you two. That's William, he's been working here... uh, a year now? He lives with me. We're like roomies. Walked all the way from Georgia to Florida after getting kicked out by his grandparents, apparently." Magnus sighed, picking the fragmented CD off the ground. 

Nathan blinked. He had no idea that little bastard was on the run. It'd be kind of cool if he wasn't such an asshole. "Anyway, I'm gonna go fish him outta the bathroom." Magnus continued. "I'll give him your workload since he's being a dick. I got a free ticket to that Snakes 'n Barrels show. You want it?"

Normally he had no interest in glam rock, but he was determined to hire Pickles before anyone else did.

-

He hated the music and all of the people. These guys were totally fruity. The drummer, in particular, was a huge fag, Nathan remarked internally. The ticket didn't come with backstage access, so he just decided he'd break in while nobody was looking. So he sat through all of the stupid, garbage music, wishing he could go home and listen to something with a way more penetrative beat. And before he knew it, it was over.

Pushing through the crowds of people who actually had backstage passes, he managed to worm past security into the dressing room of the short-lived glam rock band, as they were all collecting their things. With his soft, singing lips, the redhead gave Tony a goodbye kiss on the cheek. The other two waved, Bullets filching a bag of cocaine from Pickles before leaving to go meet the public. Pickles stayed back in silence. Nathan approached cautiously.

"Hey, who let you in 'ere?"

Nathan froze. He tried to fish for the words that he wanted, and came up empty-handed.

"Hey. I'm tahkin' to you."

"I..." He swallowed, fingers twitching. This was a celebrity. A real celebrity! Not like how Magnus had been in a band once, this guy was legit!

"Who let ya back 'ere? Speak up or I'm callin' security."

"I-I wanted to, talk, to you."

"Dood." His eyebrow rose. "Do ya even have a backstage pass?"

"N... no."

Pickles stood up, taking a swig of straight vodka.

"Listen, kid, y'don't meet folks like me for free."

"No, I, uh..." Nathan mumbled. Despite being a foot taller than this guy, he was terrified. Thoughtlessly, he slammed Pickles up against a wall. He seemed displeased. Dammit, gotta turn this around! "I-I-I, I need, you!"

"I don't swing that way, pal."

"No, I mean..." His lips were moving, but his brain wasn't working. "I think, I think you're really cool, and talented, and I'm gonna start a metal band, it's gonna be so badass and brutal and you just gotta be in it, you're good at playing everything, and I know tons of other jack-offs are gonna ask you, but I wanna be the first! Please!"

Then silence.

"I... I'll think about it?"

"Well, I, uh, I work at Bartlett Records, our number is probably in the yellow pages, and--"

"Yeah, yeah."

"And I can give you my home phone, it's--"

"It's fine, I'll call your work number."

"Alright, uh, a-ask for Nathan Explosion when you call."

"Fine. Get outta here."

He figured he wouldn't hear back.

-

A few weeks later, Nathan had assumed Pickles wouldn't take up his offer. So he resigned himself to his shitty job, giving up on his dreams of becoming a heavy metal musician. Magnus consoled him the whole way through. (He was so nice, Nathan always wondered just where stuff went so wrong.) William was far more unkind about it.

"He waschn't gonna work with you! You're juscht a regular jack-off!" He snarked, filing through and alphabetically re-ordering music as he did. "If I were him, I'd rather kill myschelf than join another failed band with another overly-hopeful loscher."

Like clockwork, the phone went off. For awhile Nathan always prayed it was Pickles on the other line, but at this point he just assumed it was another shit-taste teenager asking about their stock. William picked up. "Bartlett Recordsch, how may I help you." His tone was as bored as usual. However, his eyes went wide after a moment of listening. "Y-you want him? Scheriouschly?" Another bout of silence. He grunted. "Nathan, isch for you."

Nathan blinked, taking the phone.

"Hi, this is Nathan Explosion at Bartlett Records, how can I--"

"Hey kid."

He squealed, nearly dropping the phone. "I'm takin' up your offer. I'll be over there soon."

"Wait, you--" The phone clicked. Nathan put it back in its stand, grabbing his head for a moment. "Oh my god."

"The hell wasch that, your dad?!" William's lip curled.

"No, that... that was, that was the guy." He swallowed. "That was Pickles. He wants to- to- to be a member of my band."

William gaped in reply, then quietly going to the bathroom to have a good, long think. Nathan stood in the middle of the store, speechless. Nathan, who could never make anything of himself, had just invited the fucking lead singer of Snakes 'n MOTHERFUCKING Barrels to the place where he worked! His heart thumped in his chest, whole body seeming to rattle and shake with the immense power resting beneath his skin. His future was written.

The first thing he noticed when Pickles showed up was how he looked totally different from before. His face was clean-shaved, and his hair had been done into dreads. Other than that, he was no longer wearing that faggy glam rock crap. He spoke smoothly, in a thick accent.

"I've always wanted to publicly play drums." He looked at Nathan quizzically. "You cool wit' that?"

"Uh-huh."

"Cool. Candynose gave me his equipment as a partin' gift, so, yanno, I brought it with me. 's in my car."

"Yeah, Mister, that, uh, that wo--"

"No need for formality. We're on the same level now, kid."

-

"Magnus, I want you to play the guitar. For me."

Magnus took the request seriously, for once, seeing as how this kid had gotten Pickles of goddamn, motherfucking Snakes 'n Barrels to work alongside him. Sadly, Magnus' request in return almost made Nathan sick to his fucking stomach.

"Say, could you give Willy a place in your band?"

Nathan slurred, under the influence of alcohol and weed all melding together in his brain.

"What? No, I hate him." He grunted, lurching over for a moment before returning to normal posture. "Sorry, thought I was- was gonna puke. But, like, can he even play anything besides a motherfucking tambourine?"

"Bass guitar, actually. Come on, he's been having... depression issues. It'd make him really happy to be a part of something."

"Who gives a shit?"

"Come on. He ain't been eating. Just give him a chance and I'll leave you alone."

Nathan sighed. He couldn't say no to his boss. 

Approaching William was like approaching a wild animal. He had to do it strategically. Didn't want the kid to think he was trying to get money, or worse, trying to fuck him. He had to look completely neutral. No politeness, but no hostility. A plain, blank slate. He caught William sending off a customer, and approached him, nonchalantly putting his elbow on the counter, barely even looking William in the eye as he did. William caught on.

"The fuck do you want."

"Oh! Well, uh, y'know, I was just... talking to Magnus the other day, and--"

"Juscht say what you want, dammit."

"...You wanna play bass in my band?" 

William froze up. "Or, y'know, at least, like... show me and Pickles what you can do."

"I-in front of him, too?! Me?!"

"Yeah, I mean, y'know, if you want to, you don't have to..." Nathan hoped he'd decline the offer.

"A-alright! I, I'll get back to you on that!" He grinned. "Firscht I need schome money!"

"I mean, you're at work, so--"

"No, juscht-- I'll be back in a little while!" He reached into the register, where he'd always hide stuff, pulling out a fistful of condoms and running out the door. "Schee ya later!" Nathan quickly began to understand why Magnus worried so damn much about him.

-

"You whored yourself out to buy a bass."

"Well, yeah, they're exschpenschive!"

"Let me just repeat that. You sucked mass amounts of cock for a bass."

"I needed one! And after I get famousch, I'll never have to do gay bullshit again, so y'know... I'll juscht bury thisch in my pascht."

Nathan almost looked ill, imagining that scrawny gremlin on his knees, sucking dick, letting the guy blow his wad on his twisted, monkey-like face, and calling him "daddy" in that raspy voice. It was totally gross. Pickles shrugged it off.

"I took dick for beer tickets all th' time."

"Pickles! What the fuck?!"

"Well I did!"

Magnus sighed, dragging William into a fatherly hug. (Soon enough, it'd become less fatherly and more predatory.)

"Don't do that shit, okay? Someone could take advantage of you, get you hurt really bad."

"...'m schorry."

"It's alright, I just want you to be safe. You're young and you make terrible decisions."

Pickles looked more uncomfortable at this image than the concept of William as a bass prostitute.

"Enough of that." Pickles pulled them away from each other. "Kid. Show us what you've got."

"Lischen, I can do schomethin' you guysch won't even believe!"

"Oh god, no." Magnus grabbed his arm. "No, don't do... that."

"No, it'sch really cool!" He patted his bass, plugging it into a cheap amp that Nathan owned. "Okay, you guysch ready? Make sure there ain't no kidsch watchin'!" Pickles and Nathan looked at one another in confusion, and then shock, as they heard the sound of a falling zipper. The wild grin on William's face said all that could have been.

"...Son of a..."

Magnus covered his eyes. There he was, in all his glory. Dick hanging out over the side of the brand new bass. He tucked the misshapen head beneath one of the strings, beginning to play. He played, and he played, and it sounded... surprisingly good. Though really, the spectacle was what made it so grand. Nathan couldn't decide whether to be disgusted or amazed as he played a heavy metal bassline, then pulling the instrument up to his hands, grabbing a pick off of a nearby desk and throwing down a few deep, rhythmic tones.

He wasn't as perfectly tweaked as most metal bassists. Probably self-taught, Nathan assumed. But Christ, he was something else.

"...Holy shit."

William panted, wiping the sweat from his brow and returning his dick to his shorts. His face was red and his lips were parted in a loose grin.

"How'd I do?"

"That was wild." Nathan put a hand on William's shoulder. "You're- you're in."

"Holy ba-jesus, kid." Pickles put a hand on his head. "What's yer name?"

"He's William Victor Murderface." Magnus answered the question, allowing William to continue grinning with his gap-toothed smile.

"Holy shit. Can I call ya by your last name? Jest kiddin', I'm doin' it anyway."

"Murderface." Nathan spoke it out loud. He really wasn't much of a William, was he? "How about we all go get some motherfuckin' ice cream?"

"No, I-I really shouldn't--"

"Treat yourself for once, dude."

-

Magnus initially vetoed the idea of having a second guitarist, and Murderface stood with him on that notion. However, Nathan insisted he'd be on the lookout for secondary guitar work, putting up flyers and such. With just the four of them, he simply wasn't getting the right sound. It needed to be deeper, more harsh, more brutal.

It was hardly even a day after putting up an online ad that he got an email from a certain Charles Foster Offdensen. It was all very official, without any sort of casual speak. The lowdown was simply that Charles worked with money and accounting for bands, and his associate was interested in playing guitar for the new band in the area. He had just moved over from Sweden and had amazing guitar skills. Nathan told Charles to send the son of a bitch over as soon as possible.

He and Magnus fought over it.

"We don't need another guitarist." He said. "Am I not good enough now?"

"I want a sound with more depth to it."

"I thought I wasch the depth!" Murderface tacked onto the argument. He was like Magnus' annoying one-man entourage, sharing cigarettes and booze with him and never questioning his motivations. "May asch well juscht move the fuck back to Georgia! It'sch back to the peach state for ol' Willy Murderface!"

"Look," Nathan was tired. "it's got nothing to do with either of you, it's a stylistic choice of mine. And if I don't like this guy, we can stay a four-piece band, deal?"

Magnus grunted in approval. Murderface looked like he wanted to fight about it some more, but kept his mouth shut. So Nathan stuck with a scheduled visit for that weekend, at the record store, and spent the whole week being excited. Through that whole week, Murderface refused to speak to him outside of one-word sentences. The salt was so real, Nathan could've seasoned fries with it. However, soon enough, the weekend came, and a very official-looking man opened the door. Behind him was, quite possibly, the most beautiful man Nathan had ever seen.

Slender body, long, blonde hair, and puffed lips. Eyes as blue as an ocean, perfect teeth, perfect face... perfect everything. Murderface looked terrified when the guy approached him, palms sweating around the neck of his bass guitar.

"You ams in the bands?"

"...Y...yes."

"...How cute."

Nathan could see the deep blush beneath Murderface's pockmarked flesh. He backed up, directing the two towards Nathan in a shaky tone. The blonde gave him a pat on the head, and he looked like he'd fall over and die at any moment.

"Hello. I believe you are Nathan Explosion, correct?" The more official looking one handed over his card. "I am Charles Foster Offdensen, and this is my client, Skwisgaar Skwigelf."

"Yep, that's me. Uh, Pickles!"

Charles blinked as Pickles appeared, hung over and coked up like mad.

"This is the job that Pickles took? I see you're quite serious, hiring such a big name."

"Yeeeeeeaaaahhhh! Mr. Suit Guuuuuy!" Pickles threw his arm around Charles' shoulder, giggling and snorting harshly through his powdered nose. "We're the real deal!"

"Right. Well, if Skwisgaar and I could get acquainted with your band, it'd be wonderful."

"Oh, uh..." Nathan pointed across the room. "The guy at the door is Murderface. He, uh, plays bass. And we have another guitarist, Magnus, but he took the day off today. He really doesn't like the idea of having two guys on guitar. I'm Nathan, this is Pickles... yeah."

"I can play it with my dick!"

Murderface had scrambled over the moment his name was said, looking up starry-eyed at Skwisgaar. Skwisgaar let out smooth laughter in response, pulling his guitar out of its deep, black case. Murderface was still talking, meanwhile. "Isch, ah, y'know, isch kinda hard to do, but isch a real crowd pleascher, everyone thinksch isch pretty cool!"

"Haves you gots an amplifier?" He looked around, finally finding one on the floor and plugging his guitar in. He played a few experimental chords. "Sounds like shits. What genres ams we going fors?"

"Metal. Death metal." Charles instructed. "Something very heavy, right Mr. Explosion?" Nathan nodded, amazed at how... official this all was.

And then came the chords. Oh, Nathan had never heard anything like it. It was like wizardry, sorcery, pure magic. At double speed, his fingers danced across the chords and the frets, wrists twitching half a second at a time. They stammered across the neck of the guitar, spitting notes into the air at light speed. Everything stopped as they watched him, pick skimming the electronic instrument and eyes shut, trapped in the moment.

As it ended, Nathan could feel his heart pounding beneath his clothing. This slender god was, quite possibly, the most talented man he'd ever seen. Skwisgaar wiped his brow.

"How I does?"

The sound of nervous breathing revealed that Murderface had literally started crying. "Ah, yes, I has that effects on some persons."

"Dood! That was incredible!" Pickles sniffed, wiping his nose once more. "You're like some kind of guitar gahd! C'mon, we need this guy in our band!"

"I vote yes. Murderface?" Nathan turned to the youngest one, still weeping in ugly, gross, body-wracking sobs. His face was wrinkled and bright red, as he shakily wiped his eyes with the sleeves of his cheap, faux-leather jacket.

"...Uh-huh."

"Wait, seriously?"

"Yup."

"...Alright, I guess Magnus' vote is moot, then. Three against one. You're in."

Charles nodded.

"Wonderful. And, as someone who understands facts and figures and the like, I will be assisting with my management. After all, I have been working alongside Skwisgaar for some time now."

"He ams very reliables."

Nathan nodded in return. It was finally coming together.

-

That was where Magnus became hostile. When Nathan looked back, that was the very point. He was a bit more harsh, and cruel. Particularly to Murderface, who Nathan had always seen as his sort of adopted son. That image became much less innocent when their relationship escalated.

"He'sch juscht, y'know, a pal." He grunted, puffing tobacco smoke between his tooth-gap. Pickles took a drag from his own cigarette, looking on in disbelief. Nathan had seen the way Magnus' hand lingered on the small of Murderface's back, the way he pushed Murderface around by his shoulders, the way he'd sit Murderface on his lap when they'd watch movies, sharing liquor with him until he could hardly stand, and then walking him to his house with a vicious grin on his face.

"That's not a pal, that's a pervert."

"What'sch that schupposched to mean?!"

"He wants to fuck you."

"But I ain't gay! He knowsch, we're juscht pallin' around isch all!"

Nathan also saw through that one. He was thick, but when staying over at Magnus' place, he could hear Murderface jacking off, growling Skwisgaar's name into the pillows. Scratching at his scarred wrists and nuzzling his face into Magnus' neck, lonely and in pain. Nathan had known him long enough to see it.

Skwisgaar shrugged, too high to really care.

"I bets Moidaface was beaten as childs. Now he hooks up withs old mens as an adults."

Murderface scowled at Skwisgaar.

"You hook up with everyone."

That was also becoming apparent. Skwisgaar's blatant, for lack of a better word, whorishness. He would fuck any woman who came around, really. He himself would bring home women twice his age, and the only reason Nathan gave that a pass was because he at least had some idea of what the hell he was doing. That was one of Skwisgaar's two interests -- guitar and sex. He had a one-track mind, and hardly considered himself friends with the others at all.

Pickles was also proving to be quite the party freak. Nathan almost never saw him when he wasn't hopped up on some substance. That guy did so many drugs, they had to double the doses of anesthesia at the hospital just to put him out of commission and fix his hole-filled septum every now and then. He'd always bring in drugs, smokes and liquor, which Nathan tried to limit, as he felt like there should be one responsible man in the room at all times to make sure the others didn't kill themselves by accident. (Of course, that wasn't to say he himself hadn't done some stupid things.)

Like clockwork, Magnus and Charles walked in. Magnus forced himself between Nathan and Murderface, allowing the youngest band member to rest his brunette-haired head on the older one's chest. Nathan scowled at the display.

"So, uh, we've finally gotten a record deal."

Everyone perked up at once. Charles continued. "With a certain Roy Cornickleson of Crystal Mountain Records. All he needs to know is, uh, the actual... name of this band." The group wore a set of pensive expressions, each one thinking. Nathan himself was a bit too caught up in all this... stuff. Murderface's irresponsibility, Skwisgaar's open sluttiness, Pickles' addictions, Magnus' sleaziness, all of them wasting away. And here he was, in the middle, wasting away too. Once again, like clockwork.

Clockwork... a clock. The one life was set on.

"...Dethklok?"

They all looked at him.

"Hey, that sounds pretty cool." Pickles grinned. 

"Yeah, that ams cool."

"Isch really cool!"

"Mhm."

"So, uh, Dethklok, then?" Charles nodded. "Alright, I'll notify him."

Nathan sighed, sinking back into his chair. He figured the success of becoming a musician meant life came to a full stop, he'd just be somebody. But here he was, on death's clock, still going half the speed that most people did.

Still at half-speed.


End file.
